Chapter 3: From Russia With Love

lovelyladyjane

3 years ago

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Lindsay White was bored. They were supposed to be in a mission briefing, but it hadn’t started yet, and everyone was so very hush-hush about what the mission was about. Sam was going to come explain it at some point. That is, Director Samantha Clive, but everyone called her Sam. Which always seemed strange because she referred to everyone with their title and last name. Lindsay still didn’t like being ‘Miss White’ but whatever.

“I’m telling you, it won’t work.” Jayson and Drake were arguing. Again. Jay was being the negative Nelly, though where he got off telling Mister ‘I can fix anything’ Drake if something worked or not, Lindsay had no idea.

Drake was wearing a loud Hawaiian t-shirt over a black shirt with the name of a popular metal band and black cargo pants tucked into his combat boots. The look was so last decade, but Drake could at least wear it ironically. The same couldn’t be said for Jayson, whose long-sleeve v-neck hadn’t been in style for a century.

“I’m not saying the whole area’s going to be sucked into another dimension. It’s just going to be slightly off-kilter from the rest of time.” Drake was being patient.

“Time doesn’t work that way!” Jay was being exasperated.

“So explain it to me!”

“I can’t. Time is just one of those…things, you know? It’d be like you explaining to me how gravity works.”

Drake quirked an eyebrow. “I can explain to you how gravity works. But I see your point, if this comparison hinges on you understanding it.” He grinned. “Not my fault you’re too stupid to understand.”

Jay opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a lopsided smile. “I…walked into that one, didn’t I?”

Drake responded by holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger spaced an inch apart. “Little bit. Just a little.” He shrugged. “Come on now. When have I ever been wrong about this kind of thing? Charity, tell this plebeian pedestrian that I’m right.”

Charity was just walking in with her boyfriend Eric. At least they had the ability to dress properly. Charity wore black slacks and a midnight-blue blouse with mother-of-pearl earrings and matching necklace. Eric had a pressed collared shirt that was tailor-made for him and a pair of blue jeans with ironed creases. His watch alone would have kept her father’s business in the black for a year. The two of them were almost cute, for older people. Charity scared Lindsay a little, but not too much. She was just convinced the woman hated her. She just didn’t think she was good enough to be dating her brother. Whatever. She and Marcus were soulmates.

Charity shook her head. “Oh, hell no. I am not getting involved in your arguments. Also, that’s sort of redundant, which really doesn’t make the alliteration work. Both ‘plebeian’ and ‘pedestrian’ indicate mediocrity, though you could use ‘pedestrian’ as a noun, which really… What?”

Drake was grinning at her, which meant he’d fully intended on sending her into a pedantic rant. “Too easy.”

Charity pointedly ignored him, and instead introduced the boy that had come in with her. “Guys, this is Allen. He’ll go by Spirit on the field. He’s also a paragon type, like Lindsay.”

“Woohoo,” Lindsay said excitedly. She pumped a fist in the air. “Go team smash.”

“Right,” Charity drawled, and Lindsay could almost hear the roll of her eyes. “Anyway. Allen, you already know Eric, Jay, and of course John.” Lindsay could never quite get the hang of calling her mentor anything but Stryker, and if the adoration in the kid’s eyes was any indication, he wouldn’t either. “The others are Lindsay, Marcus, and Mitch. Spryte, Spark Plug, and Inferno, respectively.

Lindsay waved at him with a grin. Allen gave her a timid smile. He looked a little like he’d rather be hiding under the table. Awww, he’s shy. That’s adorable.

“Excellent. Fresh meat.” Mitch grinned. He leaned his chair on its back two legs and propped his booted feet on the table. He was dressed in his Delta hero costume, a black, worn leather bombers jacket with flame decals that danced around the wrists and from the bottom hem. Other than that, he wore blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He waved one hand indifferently to Allen. “Newbie goes for the coffee run. I take mine with no cream, plenty of sugar. Black as the devil, sweet as a stolen kiss.” He gave Lindsay a wink.

Mitch was a flirt. Marcus didn’t like him for that reason alone, no matter how many times Lindsay assured him that there was nothing he needed to worry about. He was that way with every girl. Of course, he was super cute. And he had a whole ‘bad boy’ air about him, plus there was just something so adorably angsty about him.

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him, he’s an asshat,” he said to Allen. He stuck out his hand. “Welcome.” Allen returned the handshake.

“…Be sure to reschedule my brunch with Senator Cole.” Samantha Clive’s voice floated down the hallway in time to the clip-clop of her stilettos. At the door, she turned neatly on her heel. “And light a fire under the accounting department. I want those financial reports on my desk by morning.” Now there was a woman who knew how to dress. A knee-length lavender skirt encased long legs that somehow seemed comfortable in her choice of sensible-but-stylish footwear. She wore a cream-colored blouse and gold minimalist jewelry. Her black hair was twisted into a French knot at the base of her neck.

“Yes, Ma’am,” her poor bedraggled assistant told her. Poor man. He was a speedster, but even he had a hard time keeping up with the demands of the high-powered woman. He scuttled off to do what he was told, and Sam stepped into the room.

“Ah, good, you are all here.” She walked to the front of the room and passed her hand over the commanding end of the table. A display woke up beneath the clear Plexiglas, and she used it to turn on the holographic display in the center of the table. It showed a three-dimensional image of a young, blond boy. “This young gentleman has made a name for himself by drawing out a mathematical proof of a working perpetual motion machine—one that could theoretically supply the planet with an unlimited source of energy. Mathematicians from all over the world have studied it. The fact that it’s written in crayon doesn’t seem to detract at all from its validity.

“Obviously, knowledge of this caliber is going to attract a lot of attention. This could solve the global energy crisis. Of course, that’s going to put power firmly in the hands of whoever controls him. The boy needs to get to a safe place before other governments try to make a war out of him.

“I’ve been in diplomatic talks with the Russians. Since we’ve gone public, several other countries wish to join in the world-wide Delta Division. As you know, the United Kingdom, Australia, and others are already part of us. As a global initiative, this makes us a neutral party that will be able to protect young Trevor here. Furthermore, it demonstrates our skills to the Russians, which will go a long way in our political ties.

“Your primary task, however, is to see to it that Trevor is escorted safely from his home on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg to the safe house we have prepared. Much of your path will be through the city streets in a public demonstration of our guardianship of the boy. Keep in mind that this is much a diplomatic mission as a military one. Mr. Allison will be your mission leader. His tactical skills will be invaluable.”

Then Jay took over the briefing, and mostly went into detail about who was going to be where and such things. Lindsay was only sort of paying attention. Her mind wandered to last night with Marcus. They’d gone to a bar together. She couldn’t get drunk, of course. But he could.

Not that it went anywhere. That was the problem with being Delta’s star couple, every bartender and bouncer in the city knew who they were—and more importantly that they were underage.

They finally got done with the briefing, and everyone loaded into the Maverick, a high-tech airplane that Drake had built. It was super sleek and shiny, which she supposed lent an extra level of stealth. It was cool, that was the important thing. They got to Russia—oh em gee, I’m in freakin’ Russia! –and met the kid. He was super cute, of course, though he didn’t talk much. At all, really. They piled together in the caravan of vehicles that was supposed to take them through Saint Petersburg to the other location. They were all set for their first Real Mission.

* * * *

Eric was keenly aware that he was the only ‘new guy’ that wasn’t under eighteen. No one else said anything, but it was obvious in the way anyone else in his age category just comfortably took command. Jayson was point man, so his commanding presence was necessary, but it was Charity in her gentle manner that corralled the kids into position.

Stryker, Sprite, and Spirit took a tri-corner position around the kid’s vehicle. They did make a magnificent sight, Eric had to admit, in full costume. For his part, he floated some distance in the air to give him the best vantage point of the entire area. Drake, along with Jayson, was even higher, in the Maverick in full stealth mode. If he adjusted the suit’s vision, he could see the plane, but it was beyond human sight, and even most technologies.

This suit was a marvel that he was just beginning to explore.

“Threat avenues noted. Contingencies in place,” intoned the female voice of the suit’s AI. The heads-up display marked circles around rooftops and building windows. At a thought, the suit would give a recommended battle plan on how to deal with each possibility of attack.

He dismissed the notifications on the display. “Thanks, Vorg,” he sub-vocalized.

“No problem, Eric.”

Not for the first time, Eric felt a twinge of amusement at being on a first-name basis with the AI of an alien suit of armor. Once, half jokingly, half apologetically, Eric made the comment to Charity about being inside his female suit. Charity didn’t get the joke at first, and then later said it was because she’d seen stranger things. Eric believed it.

It didn’t even occur to Charity to consider the suit a rival; and besides, she wasn’t the one that was uncomfortable with him wearing it. John was another matter entirely. The suit’s origins began in John’s home dimension. Its original purpose was to be worn by soldiers of the Old Order. It’s purpose: to kill Gifted. Suits designed by the Old Order emitted a variety of sound frequencies, one of which disrupted the connection that Gifted had with their powers. Drake had reprogrammed the shit out of that when Eric started using the suit.

The Paragon of Alliance City was the quiet sort. A man of few words, he had a genuine intensity and an air of unironic heroism that made Eric feel kind of bad for making the man uncomfortable by his very presence. The two had never sparred, something which Eric felt was unfortunate. He was curious how the suit would hold up under that kind of strength. Perhaps this mission would break the ice between the two of them.

Thundra, Inferno, and Spark Plug—that poor kid, what an awful name—were inside the car, taking positions close to the kid. If anything happened inside the vehicle, they’d be the first to know.

The crowd was immense. It was festive, though, which was a pleasant surprise to Eric. He was half expecting somber faces, staring morosely at the parade as it passed by. But most of the crowd was children, talking excitedly, pushing and shoving each other, and getting a little too close to the edge of the sidewalk. A few started spilling over into the roadway. The vehicles were going slow, but it was still dangerous, and Eric debated if he should fly down and help the police corral the kids.

Something flashed in his display. “Unidentified target.” What the hell? He focused on the area. The ‘kid’ didn’t look like a kid. Oh, it was about the right height and weight, but a closer look revealed pointed ears, a dark tinge to the kid’s skin, and eyes that were all black. He blinked. There had to be something wrong with the display. The kid almost seemed part of the shadow, but that couldn’t be right.

He hesitated. “Um, I…I think there’s something wrong with my display. It’s showing something a little strange.” It sounded silly. “I—I think…it looks like there’s some kid in the crowd with a…The color must be really off on this thing. Their skin tone looks gray.”

Drake swore.

* * * *

Drake’s boots hit the floor of the plane so hard it would have made Jayson jump if he wasn’t made of sterner stuff. There didn’t seem to exist enough profanity in any language known on Earth—and Drake went through every one he knew before he switched to otherworldly languages. Jay’s heart stopped for a moment before it began to race again. “How many of them do you see?”

“No, Eric, they’re not.” Jay’s voice held a calm he didn’t feel. “They’re Fae. They can manipulate and teleport through shadows. And they mess with your mind. That’s why none of us are seeing this. Drake, I’m going to get the kid out of here.”

“No,” Drake said flatly. “I’ll do it. They can get into your head. Find the safehouse. I can keep ‘em out long enough.”

Jay looked at him a moment. “Fine. But take Charity as backup.”

Drake cast him a hard look. “Fine.”

He disappeared from the plane. Jayson hit autopilot and teleported to the ground. “Vorg, I’m going to need your eyes, since you’re the only one who can see the buggers. Where are they now?”

“Mostly on the sidewalk among the crowd. Wait! In the car! Marcus! Beside you!”

Drake was in the car not a moment too soon. A flick of his wrist on his hand device, and he was gone with the kid, the boy’s caretaker, and Charity.

Marcus reacted quickly. He flung his hands out and took a guess. He got lucky. A shadow swirled beside him and was gone. “I-I got it?”

Jay looked around. The crowd had thinned considerably. Those who were left were more than a little confused. He ran his hands through his hair. Sam was going to have a helluva time trying to explain this one to the press. And that wasn’t even the worse of it.

What the hell was the Fae doing here?

* * * *

Eric watched Drake pace the floor. He’d never seen the man this tense. Frankly, he didn’t think he was capable of this level of anxiety. Drake prided himself on being in control. Even when something went wrong, he had a backup plan. This was not the walk of a man with a backup plan.

“You know, eventually someone’s going to have to calm down and explain things to us uninitiated,” Eric finally said.

“Hey, didn’t say it had to be you.” Man, the guy was really tense if he was walking into that one.

“The Shadow Fae.” Jay made the statement, efficiently getting the explanation underway before Drake could fly off the handle. “They’re creatures made of shadow, or the Darkness Element from the plane of existence called Myrathelle. Basically, think every whacked out fairy creature from ancient lore, and you’ve more or less got it.”

Lindsay raised her hand like she was in school. “So, we talking, like, Elves and the Shoemaker fairies, or scary fairies?”

“Scary fairies. The Darkness Element deals with the mind. They can twist and contort reality and your perception of it.”

“They’ve existed on this world for…oh, millennia,” Charity chimed in. “Lore tends to be vague on purpose. They can really be anything they want. Now, fortunately they’re incredibly disorganized. They rarely attack in large numbers. You might find one nuisance Fae every now and then when they get bored. But never this organized.”

“They respect power,” Jay continued. “They will follow the commands of someone they deem worthy. It’s this mastermind who will be responsible for their actions. Last time we saw them in this kind of number, they were with Kronos.”

Mitch blinked at them. “Wait…Kronos. As in…”

“As in the god of time, yes,” Charity said. “We beat him a few years ago, locked him in a sub-dimension of a parallel universe.”

“We have intel on a base of theirs in the Sahara,” Sam continued. “Perhaps we should look into that. Tomorrow. You’ve had a long day. Rest tonight.”

Jay gave a nod to John. “We’re on patrol tomorrow night.”

Sam nodded. “Yes. Miss London, you’ll take mission lead.”

Charity blinked. “I—what?”

Eric looked back and forth between Sam and Charity. He didn’t like this idea at all. Charity had history with PSO, it was true—bad history. One tends to develop strong feelings after being kidnapped and tortured by a group like that.

“You are the most qualified. Meet back here at eight o’clock tomorrow for a briefing. Dismissed.”